November 30th, 2006
AVC: The packaging for 10,000 Days really is remarkable—what sort of negotiating did you have to do with the label to allow it?
MJK: We had to look at the record company and show them, "See, this is what we make when we tour. This is what we make on album sales. We don't need to make albums. You want us to make an album, dinosaur? How's that tar pit doing for you?" If they want to survive into the next millennium, they have to figure out a way, but we get to have fun with our album artwork, because they understand that it's something they have to do to be relevant in this new world order.
AVC: What's in your wine glass in the album's artwork?
MJK: It's a 1963 Burmester port.
AVC: When did your love affair with wine begin?
MJK: I think it was meant to be. I'll backtrack in a second, to give you the history that led me up to planting my first vine, but [after] I planted my first vine, I was at a Thanksgiving dinner with some relatives, and they relayed to me that my great uncle on my father's side, and my father's grandparents, had or have vineyards in what was northern Italy, which became southeast France. But they made wine: Italian guys, northern Italy, making wine, and I had no idea. So, I thought that was kind of synchronous—you know, here I am, finding my way back onto the proper path, having skipped a generation. But, yeah, I think just being a small-town guy on the road, all of a sudden you're watching your accountants and agents and managers walking around with these glasses of red juice that look pretty appealing, and they're oohing and aahing over it while you're, like, stuck with a bag of chips, sniffing your fucking bandmate's ass and feet all the way to fucking Boise. And you're going, "What the fuck's in that glass, and who paid for that?" And, of course, I did. So we just started taking their bottle when they weren't looking, and I was indulging a bit and realized, "Hey, there's something to this." As time went on, I discovered more, and had that kind of epiphany when you actually have that one bottle with the right meal that really makes sense. And then I headed off into my decadent wine-collecting stage, which segued into me looking outside my door in Arizona and looking at the land, going, "Man, this is definitely vineyard property; this could happen." So we started breaking soil.
AVC: To most people, Arizona wouldn't seem like wine country.
MJK: Oh, it's great—we're up about 5,000 feet, 4,000 feet in some spots, and Dick Erath, the guy who pretty much pioneered pinot noir in Oregon, sold his winery and his label just recently and bought land next to some land that I'm buying down in the Wilcox area, in Arizona. So he sees what I see in Arizona, that there's potential for amazing, intense, sun-driven wine.
AVC: So there are very few of you making wine up there?
MJK: Very few, and we're up against a teetotaling Republican community perception of what this is all about. So there are lots of hurdles—but I think we'll be able to navigate them, because at the end of the day, it's going to foster exactly what these people are claiming to want to foster, which is family values, small community, self-sufficient farmers surviving.
AVC: If anything, it'd seem to lend a good name to the area. It's not like you're making bathtub gin.
MJK: Oh, yeah, definitely. That's the thing—if we can make this work, then it's not just busloads of blue-haired geriatrics on a budget [visiting] there to buy a rubber tomahawk and a glass of tea. It's going to be people that want to come through and do a bed and breakfast, buy some local wine and go to a nice restaurant, which there are very few of. But as time goes on, there'll be more competition, and therefore better chefs, better restaurants, people trying a little harder.
AVC: How did you end up in Arizona?
MJK: Kind of by accident. I had a dream where I was supposed to be in this place and I had never seen it; it looked like it might be Arizona, but it didn't look like any of the places I had been there: Phoenix or Flagstaff, neither of which I had any interest in living in. Tim Alexander, the drummer for Primus, used to live in the town that I live in now, Jerome, and he said, "Let's go check out this town; let me show you what it's all about." So I went up there with him and realized, "Oh, this is my dream; this is what I was seeing." Who knows—it could've been that the places I had driven through in Tuscany on tour had at some point stuck in my mind. You know, some rolling hills in southern France or something. But it came out in that dream. So I went, changed my license over, and bought a house.
AVC: Do you have a favorite so far of the wines you've released through your winery, Caduceus?
MJK: I've only released three so far. There's the classic cabernet, which I think is going to be one of my high-end wines. It's a long, long-aging wine that you can lay down; it's definitely an investment, but it's not my favorite. There's the [Nagual de La] NAGA, which is a super Tuscan-style blend, a Sangiovese cabernet; lots of fruit, cherries—a real Brunello di Montalcino-style of wine, which I really like. But the one that's my favorite is kind of an experiment: I took some Shiraz-style Syrah, added just a touch of Malvasia, which is an Italian, white varietal, to it, and it gave it this really approachable nose; you smell it, and it's all these flowers and honey, but then you drink it, and it's like a big Shiraz. So it's a nice introduction to wines, because you can just sit down and have a glass of this, and you don't really have to understand it. It just presents itself to you. But it's not deceiving: Like Yellowtail Shiraz, you get that at the grocery store, and it's basically not even grape juice; it just tastes like wood juice. It's seductive, but it's not really wine. But the Premier Paso, the Shiraz-Malvasia blend, is one of those wines that, if you get a bottle, you're either going to be a fan of wine, or you're not.
AVC: Are you worried about the stigma attached to "celebrity wines"?
MJK: It's going to happen—there's nothing I can do to avoid it. But the one difference that I can see so far, having to prepare for that battle, is that they're not making the wines; they have somebody doing it. I'm making the wines. I'm on tour right now, so I can't be around nearly as much as I'd like, but as soon as I get off break… I mean, I came back from a U.S. tour on [Oct.] 7th, and on the 9th, I was up crushing grapes at 6 a.m. I missed a good portion of the crush throughout September, but I was there for what I could be there for.
AVC: You're also a partner in a restaurant.
MJK: Yeah, in L.A.—Cobras & Matadors.
AVC: How do you stay focused on all these major ventures at once?
MJK: I think of it as planning for the future. I have the energy for it now, and when I don't have the energy for it, I'll back off on what I need to back off on. Right now, I'm doing okay juggling, but yeah, it's definitely something you have to pay attention to. With all the little irons in the fire, some of them fly, some of them don't, but the only way any of them are going to fly is if you're passionate about them and you actually get involved in them and do them. Some people are okay with just putting their name on something and letting it sell. But the proof is in the pudding—especially with wine. They can talk all they want, but if you drink—you open a bottle, and you know.
AVC: Any celebrity wines you recommend? Supposedly Francis Ford Coppola's line is worth trying.
MJK: Oh, yeah—the Coppola wines are actually pretty good. I haven't had anything this year, but what I remember having, it actually was relevant. I would avoid at all costs anything resembling Vince Neil's wine…
AVC: Vince Neil has a wine?
MJK: Oh, good God—you can't even get near the glass. You pour it, and you're like, "Oh, my fucking God—are there pickles in here?"
AVC: You've studied martial arts under Rickson Gracie, who's widely considered one of the greatest practitioners of jiu-jitsu on the planet. What has that training taught you about yourself, your strengths and abilities?
MJK: It's definitely a humbling experience. You realize that, when you're a guy my size, you're going to get your ass kicked no matter what. [Laughs.] I have some skills that I can use, but I'm just a small guy—and it really taught me that when it comes to males and their testosterone levels, and what happens in a situation where those testosterone levels are elevated, there's no amount of reasoning and discipline in the world that can take a middle-skilled or lower-skilled guy and make him realize that it's not okay to hurt somebody. It's kind of like the Stanford Prison Experiment mentality—when it gets to a certain point, it's just pit bulls fighting. I learned that the hard way: You're in there just trying to train, trying to learn, trying to develop your thing, and then all of a sudden, there's this 190-pound guy who just cannot control himself; he does not realize that every day, he bench-presses 300 pounds, and I only weigh 150, dude. So when you push on me, you've got to remember that. They don't remember that.
AVC: So do you teach him a lesson?
MJK: Well, I mean, if I can—if I'm fast enough, yeah. And that's the beauty of jiu-jitsu: If I am fast enough and I am skilled enough, yes, I can teach him a lesson. Generally? No. [Laughs.]
AVC: There's a Tool concert clip floating around on YouTube where you appear to choke a fan who runs onstage to embrace you. Was that for real?
MJK: Yeah, that was a gig where some dickhead got onstage—and it had already been one of those nights where, you know, a lot of things went wrong, and people were testing my patience, and then some kid got on my stage. Sorry!
AVC: Given how little press you do, fans mostly just have these weird, disconnected snapshots of you: Maynard choking a fan; Maynard onstage in kabuki drag; Maynard performing as an evangelical preacher. Is the real Maynard somewhere between all these? You can break out the incense again if you want…
MJK: I'm just going to get in the lotus position for this one—got a little New Age crystal enema going here… Mmm. [Laughs.] But it's all slices—I mean, who the fuck is Christian Bale, really? Does it matter? I think in order for us to be entertainers—and let's face it: We're entertainers; we're not philosophers in any way—we're just basically clowns. That's what we are. So you dress up like a clown, and it makes it easier to be a clown. It allows you to express yourself freely, to step out of your own body and just have fun with the character. Hopefully, somebody gets something out of it. I know I get something out of it. I have fun.
AVC: That's a side of you not many people see: You're actually really funny. For instance, you named your winery after an ancient symbol for healing, but your vineyards, Merkin, are named for a pubic wig.
MJK: [Laughs.] It's about time somebody fuckin' got that! Jesus Christ, I thought I was alone out here.
AVC: Even in Tool, there's always been this contrast between the really dark, serious music and these song titles that are completely ridiculous.
MJK: Yeah, you know—talking about adolescent anal rape by a family member while I'm wearing a fucking Bozo The Clown wig with kabuki makeup: "Are those real tits? Did he get real tits put on?"
AVC: Do you wish more people paid attention to that humorous aspect of what you do?
MJK: No. I mean, it might be interesting to know that I was involved in comedy: I was on a couple of episodes of Mr. Show. I was friends with Bill Hicks—we were going to do a tour together before he died. Once again, it's just an element of discovery. It's not my job to educate you about all this stuff. You either get it or you don't. If you read up, and you're a person who has enough of a knowledge base and a frame of reference, then you're probably going to get some of the jokes. In the big picture, it doesn't really matter; there's plenty of jokes and humor out there for other people. My big thing is, for Christmas, I always buy people subscriptions to The Onion—that's my big present every year. And for the most part, my friends get it. But I love having that newspaper sitting out in places where somebody picks it up and doesn't know what it is, and just starts to get fucking pissed off: "How can they say this?!" In a similar way, I'm not sure if you've ever heard The Phil Hendrie Show here in L.A., but that's the most entertaining two hours of driving you'll ever have, just listening to people get worked up: "You can't say Thomas Jefferson was a rapist! You can't teach that in school!" "Yes, I have to teach the kids; it's the truth…" [Laughs.] People just freaking the fuck out.
AVC: You originally moved to L.A. to start Tool—what drew you to the city?
MJK: I was working in pet stores on the East Coast, in Cambridge, [Mass.], and I just decided that I was sick of the cold weather up there, and that horrible drizzle that just continues on into August. So I ended up hooking up with somebody out here who had a line on some pet stores that I could get into and do my thing. I did a lot of interior work—rearranging and organizing stuff in the stores; I did layouts and that kind of stuff. So I moved out here to do that, and of course, I got fired right away. So I started working on sets, and, you know, when I first moved out here, I had met Adam [Jones, Tool guitarist] and some people, and they heard me singing on some old demo that I had done way back in college, and they wanted to start a band, but I was reluctant. I kind of wanted to do it to prove a point, but I also ended up saying yes to it just because, you know, I wanted to fucking shout; I just wanted to let it out, all the frustration of having been fired, and I lost my apartment, my dog got run over, my girlfriend left, car got repoed—you know, all that shit like within the space of a month or two. So I was ready to scream. Ready to "emote."
AVC: You moved around a lot as a kid. Do you feel like your quest for discipline—your stint in the Army, the spatial-design work you did in school, the martial-arts training, the interest in philosophy—stems from a desire to plant roots somewhere?
MJK: Yeah, I think it might be, and I think that's what I've found in Arizona. I finally got up there, got into the traffic, met some people who, as right-wing as they are, are still more grounded than anybody you meet at a fucking opening in L.A. And so it's a little refreshing—although, you know, you'd like to think they would be okay with your brother's gay marriage. But, other than that, it's… I kind of refer to Arizona as the evil anti-California. You know how there'll be these superheroes whose egos got split in half, and they're kind of fighting each other, but they're actually mirror images of each other and completely integral? That's basically Arizona and California.
AVC: You're a dad, and your son, obviously, is growing up in very different circumstances from you. What sort of values do you want to pass down to him?
MJK: I think it's really important for people who have some kind of access to this industry, or some kind of success, to understand that this is not the real world. If you really want your children to grow up in a stable environment that's going to foster actual skills that will translate globally, you can't do it here. Either that, or you have to put them in a situation where they're going to grow up in a different way.
AVC: When you say "here," you're talking about L.A.?
MJK: Yeah, L.A.—it's just a bad place. It's the kind of place that fosters drug-addicted kids by the time they're 17. There's just too much ego stimulus here at too early an age, and all of a sudden, that novelty wears off a little, and the attention they get—you know, because attention is not recognition; attention is attention—starts to wear off when they get into those early teens, so they start turning to another stimulus. And pretty soon, they're fucked-up. [Laughs.] You know, not everybody can bounce back like Drew Barrymore.
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